“Elinathrond was quite a journey after that, and it was summer when I got there. The sun does not set for many days during that season. I know you did not get to see that, but when you first do, it is something surreal as the polar lights, if not a bit disorienting."
Sviska noticed a depth to Garoa he had not seen before. Much more conversation than of late. Sviska welcomed it.
"You have me thinking of things that I have not thought of in many years," Garoa told him. "I am glad you have joined me."
As the sun began to lower from its trek in the sky ahead of them, they spotted the outline of Lokam. It was magnificent and old, and the stories Sviska had heard of its grandness were true.
The walls, tall and stalwart, ran up from a mountainous base to jagged points that served as towers. In its center was a tower, a long and flat structure that reached upwards; the monolith they had seen from earlier ascended into the clouds above.
Below that, the city was not visible from the road. There was a grand wall, taller than many men and near triple that of Elinathrond, making the refuge in the mountains inferior in comparison. The tops of trees that nearly hid other buildings on the outside of the wall did not even reach the crenellations, where legionnaires watched over the plains.
There was a tall bridge ahead, reaching from the ground high above a river that ran from the bays and waters of the north and flowed south in a large breath. It must have taken many a man and many days of toiling against the swift current to build it.
The bridge itself was stone, with torch basins lining it, lit by legionnaires that took little notice of the two of them walking past. They were not as armored as the legionnaires of the First Legion, or even the men that had been at Kersa. Most likely, they were not of the Legions at all, only trained like some of the militia town guards that stood watch at outlying western villages that The Order felt needed augmented security.
About midway down the bridge, Sviska took note of a cove where the river wrapped around an earthen mound and ships docked around it. It was true: the Legions did not have a grand navy nor the berth to field one. It seemed that land armies were of more importance than sea to the Grand Protectorate.
The road wrapped down the river, following its flow to what was the north gate of the city. Under them, the waters broke from the main mouth of the river that flowed through the center of the city. It then ran along a smaller arm of the river that followed toward farmland, before twisting back to the main body that flowed further south.
Before them a drawbridge crowned in silver spikes pointed down toward the road as if they were the waiting jaws of an open python. As they headed toward the drawbridge, two legionnaires approached them.
"Travelers, do you know of the ordained curfew in affect around the city of Lokam?"
Garoa shrugged and said, "Our apologies, we were not aware."
"It has been determined for the safety of all, that all dealings be made before sundown, and there is to be no one outside the city as the sun crests the trees from the watch of the Northern Guards."
Sviska turned to look behind them; the sun had just began to reach the top of trees.
"We are pilgrims," said Sviska, "We know not customs of southern cities. We hail from a desolate region of Taria, north of Tar Sol."
"That would explain your dress. It is different and covers your arms. Looks warm."
The small talk between them was a comforting change from the exchanges of late with those of the Legions.
"Very well, you will find the inn just into the city. But do not leave your rooms until morning and do not walk the city. Curfew extends to then, and you must not leave your house past moonrise."
Sviska and Garoa nodded as the guards opened the path to the city. Passing the void of the gate, they turned to see the guards staring at them.
"A bit tight with the law now," Garoa muttered. "I don't remember such rules, even in the midst of the guild's shenanigans.”
"There is more than mere jokes that has them spooked," Sviska whispered. "The Order attacking Elinathrond was done out of lack of patience. Something has spurred them to act."
They followed a path of stone lined with elevated paths on either side. Intermittent doors and even varied signs hung above them, capped in ice that reflected the glimmer of torchlight along the buildings. Lokam was a city of many services for the entire north and a center for trade like no other. Even though, Sviska noticed no obvious sign of normal trade, like when he first went to Elinathrond’s market. Lokam was less than welcoming.
They recognized the inn by the array of wagons and horse stalls outside of a two story, balconied building. It looked over a cliff that dropped off the side of the city and through the lower areas.
They entered, pushing the door open and coming to a large room where candles lit the walls. A tall, slender man looked up from a book as they approached. His robes were red and a silver necklace hung around his neck.
"Two rooms or just one?" the man asked, staring at them.
"Two and some food?" Sviska asked.
"You will find apples in your rooms, and a porridge served tomorrow. Ten gold pieces for the night, for both, please."
The man held a skinny and frail white hand to accept the money given to him by Garoa. He slid them two bronze keys as his other hand covered the coins.
"Take the stairs, rooms are on the end."
Passing through an archway and past a dark room with a dying fire, they ran up steps that were over a darkened hallway below them. In either direction from the crest of the stairs were four rooms. They took a guess and went left, finding their rooms unlocked by their keys.
A very simple accommodation, but warm. No more than a bed and a small table adorned the room, and the bed was less than the best a city such as Lokam could provide, but it worked.
Sviska removed his coat and stretched. Although tired, he walked toward a wooden door opposite the entrance and opened it.
It was a balcony and linked to the railings of other rooms on this side of the inn. Garoa had come out, too.
From the balcony, the city sat in a bowl around the center keep that reached into the sky. From the level of the inn, it was many stories and twisted roads down to the river level that was far below, now speckled with a crest of moonlight on the water. The western portion of Lokam sat higher than the east, and it delved into the rocks going upward from the watery center.
Punctuated by many four story buildings, the city rose up on either side of them. Although many different areas linked together with large bridges, others had roads than took sharp turns around jutted rocks rising from the riverbed below.
Near the lowest portion of the city, a single bridge led off to the opposite side of the city from an island in the water. This island sat at the center and was circled in iron and stonewalls. Torches glowed from atop it. A causeway went from this fortification in a single half-moon turn, rising up to another large rocky outcropping. It was there a large tower rose up into the clouds. This is what they had seen on their approach, but as massive it was, the tower was dark and lacked the light of the rest of Lokam.
“The tower of stone. Rumored to be the resting place of Kel,” Garoa said.
“We saw Kel at Elinathrond,” Sviska replied, “So we at least know he is not fallen.”
“A prisoner to it then, though I can say never have I seen that tower alight in the night or the doors at the end of the causeway opened. Lokam has many secrets beyond just that. But none are important for our task tomorrow.”
The morning would come before Sviska and Garoa knew it. They both needed sleep and took their leave of each other. It took mere moments and each of them were asleep. Unknown to them, things were not to be peaceful that night.
It had been no more than an hour into their slumber when a thundering sound like a great hammer smashing stone shook Sviska from his bed. His heart thudding in his chest, Sviska's hand found his dagger and drew it, a fear overtaking him.
Sviska scrambled to
the balcony. He looked toward the center tower spotting rocks shaking free from the structure near the center keep of the city. High above in a swirl of clouds there was lightning, but instead of down from the clouds it shot upwards in flashes of whites and blues. Garoa joined him looking upwards.
Shouts below them echoed in the near-empty streets as cohorts of legionnaires ran from one place to another. It seemed they headed to the center island, but it was hard to tell from the flashes above. The ordeal lasted for a while before the lighting ceased and a howling wind blew in.
Garoa shook his head. "Never had a sight as that been seen here when this was my home, never," he said.
Sviska did not know what it was they had seen either, and, perplexed, they each laid down again, hoping that slumber would last until morning and the sounds would not return. The howling wind was like a sad gale, singing into the stones of the keep a solemn cry. With that sound for his lullaby, Sviska forced himself to sleep.
Chapter 9 The Eastern Journey
Berie remained within the shadows, watching and listening to the quick jog of Sviska’s steps as he chased after Garoa. It would be up to her and the dwarf to seek the Dwarven Hand, and the task was already heavy upon her.
Opening the door of the great hall, she entered to find Knasgriff staring into the fire.
"They are gone then? Sviska has followed after Garoa?" he asked.
"Yes."
He shook his head and said, "I could tell something was on his mind, and that he was not as zealous to the task as you others."
"Sviska will direct him back to us, but we will not tarry on our task, as well as our promise to the Island Nation."
"I trust you all will continue on? You will leave tomorrow with the dwarf?"
"Yes, at first light, I hope, but it will not harm us to start a bit later, I feel. I am quite weary as of now."
"That is well with me. You may use this as your home as long as you need and afterward, when you return, if you wish."
Knasgriff took a drink of ale from a tankard on the mantel.
"I would hope you would not mind Euso joining you."
"Your apothecary?" she asked. "I would think he would be most useful here, given the issues you have had with Legatus Varac.”
He nodded and said, "Why yes, he would, but his stock of supplies can be managed by his assistants and will well last. Besides, it is you that may need his help before your task is complete, and he is the best at what he does."
"We would be happy to have him, but I have sight to see it will not be an easy road ahead."
"He has known much strife and though he does not look it, he is a warrior as much a healer. If you do not wish him to go . . . "
"No, Knasgriff, he is welcome to come with us. Slats will very much like that. I will like to have him, too. My father was an apothecary, so aside from being familiar with herbs, Euso’s company will be pleasant."
Knasgriff smiled. "Thank you. I know that your task is most definitely your own to complete, but I am happy that — such people as you are — you would take help from us island folk still. We fought a hard battle for your kind."
"Thank you, from all the elves, and dwarves, for your sacrifices. I have wondered for many moons if I would meet those responsible for my own saving that night."
Knasgriff placed his hand on her shoulder and said, “It was an honor to say we could, dear elf, and a tragedy we could not do more. I leave you for sleep now."
They both departed from one another and laid down for the night.
It was as if she had not slept at all, as an almost jubilant Slats awoke and began knocking around things, packing his few trinkets and putting on his coat. He puffed an empty pipe as he walked toward the door, not noticing until now that other than Berie, the others were not there. He shouted to Berie, who was only half-awake, "Come on, come on! Get up we must get going! The others are already awake!"
He chewed the end of his pipe again and went out the door.
Berie sat up. Sliding her feet into her boots, she looked over to the wall where her bow and quiver sat. It would be just her and him until Sviska managed to get Garoa back to them. They were responsible for a great task, and now they were only half of what they were.
Slats made a quick search around the Great Hall, and when he did not find his other companions, he quickly returned to their sleeping chamber and burst through the door.
"Berie, come quick! They are not here."
Berie stood and held her head high. "They are gone, Slats. It is up to us now."
"Gone?"
His eyes narrowed in, and he tilted his head. He wondered if he had heard wrong. Sviska and Garoa both knew the importance of what they were to do.
"Gone where? To get some supplies, perhaps an animal to ride instead of traveling on just our own two feet?"
He rather liked that idea and, in fact, he was sure that was it as he began packing his pipe with tobacco, preparing for the wait for their return.
"That is good! We shall travel a bit easier now!"
"No, Slats. Garoa left for his own convictions, and Sviska went with him to curb him back to proper path. He bid us continue to seek out the Dwarven Hand and the elven crystals. He assured that he would meet back up with us as soon as they could. But we need to continue as planned."
There was sadness from Slats as his eyes slanted away and he turned toward the doors of the Great Hall. Berie followed him and found him lighting his pipe, slouched against the wall of the Great Hall.
"I cannot believe it," he told her. "Of all the snares in which I thought we were to get caught, the twists of fate for our journey, I did not believe this would be one of them."
"Slats, in my many years I have seen many a ploy and plot come together as well as fail. It is often the very thing we do not expect that is what happens. Such it was in our journey to Elinathrond. Such will it be as long as we breathe in this life.
The long winded words of the elf were more than the dwarf was used to, particularly in the early morning. He puffed his pipe, nodding along as if he actually understood it, but Berie could tell her words were a bit too much for him. He thought of the Estate, the crackle of bacon cooking as he sipped a stout tea. Berie’s monologue continued.
"Our paths are no different, and I trust that Garoa will return to us, as will Sviska. We are to take this path ourselves."
He coughed on his pipe. "Bluckers. Sometimes the jobs of a servant are easier than this fate we are dealing with. I might very much like to be back in the library in Elinathrond."
He stood and stretched his neck before reaching down to pick up his ax. He held it out in front of him. "But, my kin had not such a history sitting around chomping bread. We made it out there."
Slats pointed over the walls of the village and across the land of the island.
"All right, we will go it alone,” he said to her.
"Ah! I say you won't!" a voice said from below them.
Up from the second level came Euso, a large satchel at his side and a walking stick. "I can hear your journeying talk already, and I say I will be joining you on this bit of a walk."
"Euso, I am happy you were up and ready to go this morning. Knasgriff told me you wished to go!" Berie said, walking down to meet him.
"I had not the courage to ask myself, but I am ready. I have brought herbs that will aid us, I am sure."
"Euso, do you journey with us to seek the Dwarven Hand?"
"Why yes, my dear Slats. Two shorter people are better than one I'd say."
About that time, Knasgriff emerged from the Great Hall, also with a pack. At first, Berie and Slats both thought the same. That indeed another was coming, but the Chieftain waved his hand in front of himself, seeing their surprised stares.
"Oh no, I am not going. Although I would if I could. There is much to oversee here. We have a fishing trip to prepare for."
He gave a slight wink and opened up the large pack.
"Some traveling fare, rations, a bottle of mead.
Just some items that I thought might be useful. I would give you some bread but uh, the mill." He motioned behind himself. "You know."
They nodded.
"Thank you, Chieftain," said Slats.
"You are welcome. Take the path south, as I know the other two did. It is there you will find the ferryman who will take you to the mainland."
"I will take care of them," Euso said.
They turned toward the ramp leading down, and there was unified clapping from Knasgriff and those guards of the third level. A happiness stirred in both Berie and Slats as they made it to the second level and began toward the gate. People stared at them, pointing and talking amongst themselves. However, the stares were not of disrespect or mocking, but of wonder. It had slipped throughout the town that an elf and a dwarf were among them.
They passed through the gates where both guards bowed before them. Slats smirked at the occurrence. The people of Kersa respected them and long had it been since such respect was shown from men to elves and dwarves.
They followed the road and under a rising sun the town faded behind them. The air was fresh and blew over their path with a salty warmness.
The companions treaded with haste toward the ferry landing, reaching it before they had realized it was a path that the elf and the dwarf had never taken. Berie looked toward the grass-covered home with a peculiar look.
"These people live almost as the elves did. The leaves upon the roofs remind me of home and the great trees."
"It is for warmth," Euso told them. "It helps keep the houses insulated from the cold and looks well, too, I think."
The ferryman sat on the dock with a fishing pole, not minding the fact he had customers waiting. He had a bite and jerked the line, setting the hook.
As Berie, Slats, and Euso came onto the dock, he pulled from the waters a green and silver fish, jumping in an ecstatic joy.
"Aye! My brother will not believe this one, biggest one I've caught in a while!"
Saints of Wura: Winemaker of the North, Arcane Awakening, Reckoning in the Void (Saints of Wura Books 1-3 with bonus content) Page 36